


Laurent

by saernamaz



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Humor, Loosely based on Jane Austen's Emma <3, M/M, Really really slow burn, Slow Burn, Thus as a Jane Austen protagonist; Laurent is a brat and everybody is in love with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saernamaz/pseuds/saernamaz
Summary: Beautiful, witty and rich, Laurent has taken upon him to organize the life of the inhabitants of his sleepy town of Montsoreau by mingling in their marital affairs.What started as a boyish game to distract himself, begins to have desastrous effects, especially on Laurent himself, when he finds himself caught in his own game.
Relationships: Auguste/Jord (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Erasmus/Kallias (Captive Prince), Jokaste/Kyrina (Captive Prince), Laurent/Jord (One-Sided), Laurent/Kastor (One-Sided), Laurent/Lazar (One-Sided), Laurent/Torveld (One-Sided), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Vannes/Kashel (Captive Prince)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	Laurent

The youngest Vere son sat gracefully, alongside his father, in the front row of benches in the small chapel of the town in which they resided, smoothing his blue coat, as he fought to hide an elvish smile. He could not help but take great pride in the scene unfolding: his friend Vannes, dressed in a fancy and modern white dress, grey eyes glassy with tears from standing so close to such a beautiful woman, ― a strong creature, with black skin and short dark hair, which naturally curled past her ears and who had the sharp features of the Kučera family, foreign bourgeois who came to France hoping to magnify their fortune ―, destined to become her wife, and in front of the young priest, dressed in a black soutane, which was a friend of his.

The priest gave his heartfelt greetings to the room, eyes scanning the room and stopping on the young blond boy, giving him a playful and subtle wink, before the pipe organ began to sing a wedding tune to set the church in a delicate and royal atmosphere. When the regal tune stopped, the boy’ godparent, an old man responding to the name of Herode coughed audibly, which broke the carefully cultivated maudlin character of the chapel. The young Vere boy hid his giggle in his palm. The rest of the place seemed unbothered and the priest nonchalantly opened his arms to the audience, as to invite them into the Lord’s warm embrace.

― My dearly beloved friends, we gather here, before the Lord, in this time of man’s great innocence―

The boy smiled at that word, and his father turned toward him, his brows furrowed. “Innocence… Innocence? Uh.”

*****

The Vere mansion was a marvel of gothic architecture, lost in the greens of the French countryside, in the Loire, circled by wild gardens, in which trees and flowers were starting to bloom slowly under the spring sun and to spread their sweet perfume through the lands. Although the mansion was grey and morn on the outside, the inside was lively and colorful, filled by the sweet hues of the rococo era, which had pleased the Lady of Vere greatly when she was alive. The many statues that ornated the hallways were splendid, but more often than not were their beauty eclipsed by the inhabitants of the house, and more particularly of the youngest son of the late lady.

At sixteen, he was a beautiful young man, unphased by the torments of adolescence like his companions were and who never knew an ounce of trouble, as light as it might have been. His skin was as smooth as marble, on which little ginger stars danced gracefully from his exposition to the new radiant sun. He was crowned with a halo of soft light, long blond hair grazing his shoulder in a braid. But what truly made him beautiful was the sparkle of malice in his blue eyes, and the impish smirk that always seemed to wait patiently, tugged away in the corner of his lips. It made him lively, and not another pretty Parisian doll, and broke the monotony of life in the country. He was a clever, malicious and pretty young man, who made the rich hallways bright with activity and adolescent games.

His favorite was to make two people meet and to patiently watch new love blossom. He seemed to think he had a gift for finding his young friends potential suitors ever since he introduced an old widower to the kitchen lady, and with a slight push, observed them develop a romance, and eventually get engaged. From that day on, he continued his work as a matcher, presenting young lords to young ladies, young lords to young lords, or young ladies to young ladies. He took great joy in seeing the pairs incline to love after a few weeks of mingling in their courtships.

Bizarrely enough, as much comfort and pleasure as he found in watching young people grow infuriated with each other, he always declined every of his old father’s ― Lord of Vere, the son of old minor aristocracy and prominent bourgeois figure ― counsels concerning a potential marriage to ensure the income of money of power over nearby lands. His father would sternly say, “My son, you ought to marry, for the well-being of our family”, to which he would answer, in a voice coated in honey, that his brother chased enough skirts in Paris for the both of them and swelled enough gifts and gold from suitors than even needed, although in more polite and subtle ways, as to not encourage his father’s exasperation with him.

For all he made couples blossom, he himself never knew of love’s soft touch and breezy temperament.

*****

The wedding ceremony was graciously hosted by the Vere, out of respect and friendship with the lady Vannes’ family, which also was their neighbor. The lord of Vere’s property was larger and more opportune to such large feasts, for all of the département’s greatest families were invited. The roads leading to the manor became a parade of colorful cars and strong horses, all of them subdued by the clattering sounds of wheels colliding with rocks or abruptly falling in a small hole on the road. The march continued in the salons, where pampered lords and ladies chatted among themselves or danced with timid and polite reservation. Some others gained some confidence and momentarily abandoned decorum to wander the mansion and visit the many pastel rooms and tread the rich wooden floors, longing in the bedrooms, pleased to disturb the absent owners’ privacy and excavating their private proprieties. The young priest, whose name was Lazar, and who became priest by misfortune because his poor parents abandoned their crude baby boy to a monastery, where he only learned to praise the Lord publicly, and to lay with boys late at night behind the brothers’ judging gazes, was actually the only one to do it, with the owner of the bedroom’s tacit agreement. The young Vere boy was actually quite content, when he went back to his rooms after one of Lazar’s many visits to their manor, and could no longer find one of his perfumed silk scarf or one of his beauty product, and found the chapel’s priest bringing it to his nose some days later. It made him utterly amused.

The lady Vannes, who had been waltzing with her wife, Kashel, just a moment prior, came toward a group of boys, who were tranquilly sitting on a sofa, sipping champagne from refined glasses and watching the festivities with different sorts of malice. She gave them a sweet smile, before silently asking for a place at their side, which was granted when the youngest drew closer to another boy to allow her to sit. He offered her his glass of champagne, which she accepted without a word.

― Oh, dove! Thank you, Laurent, for everything. The mansion, but most importantly for presenting Kashel to me. I cannot fathom what my life would have been without her.

― Oh, but the pleasure is mine, Vannes. You make quite a carefully paired couple, I must admit.

The young woman nodded, a bright smile on her face which was not eclipsed by the young man’s derisive comment, the remnant of the pleasure of the religious ceremony which saw her life promised to another, before standing up once again, when she spotted the mother of her bride walk into the salon. Laurent turned to the closest man to distract himself, but he seemed lost in his thoughts, his glassy eyes staring at the satin curtains with drunken admiration. Laurent was left completely alone, as the other boys stood up as one person, speaking in whispers of smoking cannabis they discreetly stole from their fathers. With his brother off in Paris for his studies and Vannes married to a woman with whom she would soon live, far away from Montsoreau, the adolescent could taste his bitter independence and complete loneliness.

He had friends, sons of men his father was polite with, but they were shallow company and he did not find them entertaining the way Vannes or Auguste had been. Actually, one of the only acquaintances he could tolerate was a man of twenty-nine ― Auguste’s age ― named Jord, who lived two hours away from the town, and who would come to visit sometimes, being his cousin Aimeric’s occasional tutor and friend. For Aimeric, Laurent had no friendliness, judging him too childish to truly bound, but did not sport distasteful feelings neither. He would tolerate Aimeric’s incessant chatters about girls and gossips, distracting himself by playing with his tea or by watching Jord closely, to see how a cleric would react to frilly and splendid riches and to innocent small talks. Laurent found it jolly to watch his leg twitch impatiently, stomping a crescendo rhythm as the afternoon dragged on, or to see how uneasy he felt between two ephebes talking about such shallow topic as which coat to wear to the archpriest’s funeral. After some time, they began to talk, and Laurent found him resourceful and merry, pleasantly throwing jokes in between serious conversations. Jord had become his confident and most beloved friend, although quite his senior, and vocally against Laurent’s mingling games. Laurent thought that his disdain was faked, and that he secretly hoped for Laurent to mingle in his courtships. It was too bad that Jord could not come tonight, but fortunately, neither did Aimeric.

Upon finishing his champagne, convinced that sitting idly was but a waste of time, the boy stood up with all the grace he could master, and strolled from rooms to rooms. He soon caught the eyes of the son of a servant in one of the town’s new hostels, and an occasional friend of his, a young man a year his cadet and which he took under his wing, charmed by his candor and naivety. The boy’s face lit up as he saw Laurent, and he bid the man with whom he spoke before to greet him warmly.

― Oh Laurent, there you are! I was afraid I would not see you tonight. Do you know Kallias, here? he asked innocently, pointing to the brown-haired boy he spoke to, who had made his way to the window to lay on the pillars and watch the night settle. He is most remarkable! He is a comedian, with such talent that he played main roles in Musset’s plays in Paris!

Laurent quirked an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. “Oh? And what is his business in Montsoreau of all places?”

― He mentioned finding rural inspiration I believe, how romantic!

― Well, what a character you met tonight. When is he to return to Paris? Oh, no, do not tell me, dear, but please do entertain him until he is gone.

Finding himself already bored with Kallias, Laurent departed on these words toward another room, away from the unbearable silliness of his friend. Comedians were the worst lovers, for they were volatile and incapable of honesty and truth, and somehow, Laurent found the boy not very pleasing to look at, all legs and very thin, missing the plump of Erasmus or the well proportions of Aimeric. For a talented actor, he seemed meager and not at all recognized by the amateurs of theater of the room. If the comedian part was but a lie to get Erasmus, then Laurent could find him a redeeming quality, but if it was the truth, he hesitated between pity and hatred.

In the adjacent room, Laurent’s curiosity was peaked when he saw for the second time the Akielos brothers, their first meeting being a curious gaze from across the marketplace a mere month ago, draped in elegant red silks, but standing nonchalantly, each of them had one arm thrown across the marble rim of the chimney where a fire was gently burning. They discussed expressively, their faces twisted by their emotions. Laurent knew little about them, except that they were minor nobles back in Greece, who left for France to profit of the new fashion of hats, for they owned a renown hatter shop in Paris, but also in Nantes, which was close to Montsoreau, hence them settling here almost a year prior, leaving the Parisian boutique to their cousin Nikandros. What Laurent found more interesting, was that they were both celibate, despite being thirty-two for the eldest and twenty-three for the youngest, and dignified gentlemen with a small fortune to them.

Coquettishly, Laurent made his way to the pair and stood before them, clearing his throat to signal his presence. Both men turned a questioning look to him, and straighten from their sloppy position, revealing to be absolute giants in height and in wide. Their broad shoulders stood atop a muscular stature, enhanced by their imposing height. Laurent, who by no means was a frail young man, felt ridiculously petit. Still, he presented his hand for the men to shake with a confident, yet polite smile.

― I believe we have not yet been properly introduced. My name is Laurent Vere, second son to my father Aleron and his late wife Hennike, owner of these lands and this mansion. Considering my father’s absence ― you must understand, he is an old and weak man ―, please allow me to formally greet you to our domain, but to Montsoreau too.

The youngest brother smiled at him merrily, and shook his hand, his almond eyes glued to Laurent’s blues, for quite some time, before he seemed to come back to himself and timidly let go of his hand. The oldest scoffed behind him, before taking Laurent’s hand in his and bringing it to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently.

― A pleasure to meet you, Laurent, he said, his voice deep, unnaturally so, as if to charm. I am Kastor Akielos, and this is my younger brother, Damianos.

― Damen is just fine. Thank you for your welcome and for hosting us tonight.

― The pleasure is all mine. I am sure that my father would be glad to meet you, if I can be so bold as to ask you to join us for dinner occasionally. My father hosts grand dinners on Fridays, if you wish to meet new people.

― It would please us immensely to join you, sweetheart. We are free this very Friday, so you can expect us, Kastor said, but his _us_ sounding strangely like _me_. Laurent bathed in his barely hidden flirtations like a cat in the sun, content with playing coquettish with older men for a while. He smiled candidly at the nicknamed and batted his eyelashes subtly, tilting his head to the side.

― It is settled then. I look forward to seeing you again gentlemen. I am so sorry to leave you so abruptly, but I must see my father this instant. I wish you a pleasant evening.

*****

Mr. Vere liked the company of people in his own way. He would host dinners, where he would invite the dignified friends he had made by doing polite talk at the marketplace, or people his son wished to see. The old man was enamored of his son enough that he granted him his every whim. Some would call Laurent spoiled, but he preferred to state that he was not arrogant in his demands, nor foolish, and that his father was just very kind, but never spoilt him as if he was a vulgar pampered brat.

Thus, this Friday, the Akielos brothers were formally invited, alongside Erasmus and his mother, a similarly plump and soft woman, who was not as pretty as her adopted son, but twice as clever. Laurent found an odd confident in her and would sometimes indulge her with talks of politics and philosophy, for which he had great interest. But more often than not, Miss. Mina would urge him to speak with her timid ward, practically giving his education to Laurent. Erasmus had been a lost child that Miss. Mina took in when he was a young pup, but at now fifteen, the woman seemingly lost all interest in motherhood. Laurent indulged Erasmus well enough, he was not very intelligent, nor interested in high topics, but he was soft and had a taste for elegance and let himself be guided easily.

Mr. Fay, Aimeric’s father, was also present, along with his son and his unfortunate friend Jord, who gave Laurent a bright smile when he arrived, but as promptly as the smile lasted, it disappeared when Aimeric spoke to him. The blonde gave him an apological smile, before diverting his attention to the newcomers, who, despite their relaxed postures, sitting comfortably in a sofa, were nervous and silent, quite the contrary of the other day. He was about to sit down next to them, when he saw Erasmus fetching a glass of juice on a table, and walked to him instead, greeting him easily as to not startle the boy. Erasmus smiled at him, not as bright as Laurent hoped, but it would do.

― Erasmus, dear, I _have_ to introduce you to our new guests! Poor souls are utterly lost in here, and I thought that they might enjoy our company, and meeting new people is good for the spirit, right?

― You told me so already, yes, his smile was soft, but his eyes spoke of gratefulness for the other boy’s teachings. I would not mind meeting them. They are the renown Akielos brothers, are they not?

― You are right. But I believe that they will talk best about themselves. But I can already tell you that you will _adore_ them, they are everything one would seek in a gentleman.

Laurent linked Erasmus’ arm under his own and made his way to the sofa where the two men were still sitting in silence, bathing in the softly spoken conversations of the other pairs or groups. Laurent smiled at them, and greeted them politely, which the pair returned.

― Friends, please let me introduce you to my dear friend Erasmus. Is he not lovely?

Damianos turned his head toward the boy, taking him in, before turning back to Laurent, staring into his pupils. He stayed silent for a short while, which Laurent took as a man judging a potential lover, before he nodded. “He is indeed very lovely.”

Laurent beamed, and turned to murmur to Erasmus. “I think he likes you. You should speak to him, he is a very kind man, I am sure. You would find a great friend in him.”

The young boy nodded at his eldest’s remark and smiled at the man in front of him, sitting to his right and starting an idle conversation with him only. Damianos seemed to soften and spoke calmly to the boy, which sent great pleasure to Laurent’s core. The boy turned to Kastor, who was watching him, passively, and extended his arm, an invitation to rise and to accompany Laurent somewhere else. The man scoffed ― that man scoffed an awful lot, what was so funny about Laurent’s behaviour, that he chuckled each time he did something? ― and took his arm, letting Laurent guide him to the main entrance, where Aimeric and Jord spoke enthusiastically. When Jord saw them approach, he raised his eyebrow at Laurent, who smiled innocently at him. Not looking for a quarrel, Jord dropped his attention back to Aimeric, without shedding the new pair another glance, although his features were now firmer and closed.

They passed them and made their way to an empty salon, in a most modern style, with dark wood furniture and deep hues of red colouring the walls and accessories of the room. Laurent sat them down and released Kastor’s arm, preferring comfort to proximity. He nonetheless turned toward the man, grinning at him, glowing with victory.

― Your brother seems quite besotted by my little friend, is he not?

― I would not discard the idea no, he is approximatively my brother’s type.

― Is that so? I shall count that as a victory then. You see, Erasmus is a wonderful boy, and he deserves a perfect gentleman to suit his taste. The poor boy cannot seem to find one, so I have taken upon myself to find him one. I think that Damianos is quite a right candidate.

― But not me?

― Oh, hush, sir. You will have to settle with me.

― Do not worry yourself, my sweet, you are not hard to love at all, and I am more than happy with my station. For once, I am not in the least jealous of Damen. Ah, but enough of it, let us talk of something I excel at, clothes for example.

Kastor boldly put his hand on Laurent’s tight, tasting the warmth of the skin below more than the fabric, and the young man let him, just content with attention and the knowledge that his matching went accordingly. The gesture did not revolt him, nor did he sent him into a panic, he was not the first to lie about feeling his wonderful pants as an excuse to initiate physical contact. Laurent started to think that older men only knew of physical contact to ground them and distract them, and if thus was the case, Laurent preferred to stay a child and find leisure in simple mind games. Kastor covered his contact by speaking of fabric, and how he could find better suited pants for Laurent at his friend Charls’ store in Nantes, and Laurent nodded absentmindedly, thinking of the pair he left in the parallel salon and feeling the warmth of proudness.

The boy was too lost in thoughts to notice the hand slowly rising up to his waist and nestling there, urging the lithe body forward, or how Kastor slowly bent toward him, bringing his face closer to his. The wetness of a tongue on his lower lip was what brought him out of his reverie and made him jerk backwards, accidentally bringing the man back with him, with a shocked gasp and the name of the man cried out loud, in a panicked and reprobating tone. His cry must have been heard outside of the room, for Jord and Aimeric hurriedly entered the room and took in the scene before them, Laurent bent on the sofa, with Kastor on top of him, his hand still on his waist ad cheeks reddened.

― Oh, dear, was all Aimeric said, before the rest of the guests tumbled into the room and stared at the two men on the sofa as if they were a Renaissance painting, mouths ajar and eyes comically widened.

Miss. Mina let out a breathy, mocking laugh at the situation, whereas Mr. Vere was fuming, his face red and brows furrowed. Laurent redressed, gently nudging the heavy still man on top of him to follow the movement and sit straight. Kastor was as shocked about the situation as the audience, mouth opening and closing, as if he was looking for words to say. His brother watched him with hostile eyes and shook his head angrily, making Erasmus next to him even more tense, which he marked by letting go of his arm.

― What is the meaning of this? the patriarch of the house asked, his eyes hard on Kastor and pitiful on his youngest son.

― I…, the unfortunate culprit let out shakily.

― Do you want to provoke a scandal Mr. Akielos?

― Father, you are too harsh, Laurent spoke calmly, as if the situation was impersonal to him, a jury at a trial. All of this is a misunderstanding.

― Finding you on your back with a bulky man on top of you, intimately close, is an accident? Aimeric said playfully, probably looking for a petty gossip to tell his other bourgeois friends. At least he took the situation better than most other people present.

― Oh, it is. Kastor here just wanted to feel the fabric of my coat, out of inspiration for new hats, when he involuntarily pushed me a bit too harshly to feel a particular zone, and sent me tumbling backwards. In a fuzzy of panic, I grabbed him and he stumbled with me. It is I who should apologize to having put him in such a distressful predicament.

His father let off a sigh, more relived than anything else, although he would never admit such feelings out loud. He left the room with the announcement that dinner would be served very soon and that the company ought to sit at the living room instead of wondering salons. Miss. Mina followed close behind, talking rapidly of the ‘disastrous’ event that unfolded, though she seemed clearly amused. Jord was still frowning, but more at the young boy than at Kastor and left with a sigh when Laurent only met him with a beguiled smile. Aimeric followed behind him, starting to bother the cleric once again. Damianos stayed firm on the threshold, glaring daggers at his brother, which Laurent found most interesting. That man was a real gentleman, and even disapproved of unruly behaviours in others. Laurent felt comforted in his choice for Erasmus, he would treat him right.

Ultimately, Laurent stood up, as a signal to let the case go and to continue on with dinner. At the table, Damianos insisted on being placed next to Laurent, at his right, with Aimeric at his left. Kastor begrudgingly took a sit next to his brother, while Erasmus preferred to sit next to his mother, on the other side of the table. Laurent frowned. It was not an optimal setting, but Damen and Erasmus surely could talk from across the table. But the foreign man did not seem very inclined to talk to the young boy, preferring him Laurent’s company and his answers to Damianos’ questions. The conversation was pleasant and personal, airy and unformal. He tried to direct his affection towards his friend a few times, but the man was as dense as he was blind, and did not seem to see Erasmus for the rest of the evening, which was upsetting. Laurent would have to work harder to make them get along. He tried to understand what in Erasmus was unattractive to a city man, and he promptly thought of the rustic but candid charm of Erasmus, who despite Laurent’s best counsels, still had trouble properly arranging an outfit or use the correct cream at the according moment to make his skin glow with artificial health instead of he natural one his cherub face sported. He sighed despite himself and his partner in conversation stopped, his eyes shining with worry more than irritation at being so rudely interrupted.

― Are you well, Laurent?

― Mh? Oh, yes, I am, please do not worry about me. I was just thinking. Please apologise my rudeness, it has been a very exhausting day.

― I totally understand. Please let me apologise once again for my brother’s behaviour earlier. He is quite… pushy in his admiration, but did not mean harm. Although, if he ever laid an unwanted hand on you, please come to me at once.

The man was frowning now, which drew furious wrinkles around his eyes, aging him slightly. His face was already hard enough, that it should not be troubled with anger.

― No need for apologises, it was an accident, I tell you. But I thank you for your politeness and consideration, nonetheless. I would prefer to put this story behind us, we have no need for troubled waters between our families. My father holds no grudge against him, nor do I. I would advice that you let it go also. Frowning can only be so bad for the skin.

The man laughed at that and relaxed, leaning into the chair and taking a sip of wine. “Very well. But in exchange, might I ask you a bit about yourself?”

― If you so wish. What do you desire to know?

A beat passed, during which the man was pensive, thinking of a question to ask. “How are your studies?”

― Lycée years always go smoothly. I am in a nice establishment in Saumur, frequented by very well educated people. I find myself interested in philosophy and history above all, although I think of pursuing a degree in history, perhaps in Paris. My brother is in Paris, working on his master’s in philosophy and psychology, which unfortunately does not seem a very pleasurable thing, hence my choice in history.

― We have a boutique in Paris, the man smiled.

― Oh, I went there once. I much prefer your Nantaise boutique.

― Is that so? Well you would see me glad of that fact. If you ever come by, do not hesitate to ask for me, I am usually locked in an office, but seeing you would be a reward for hours of bureaucratic labour and I would indulge myself in it.

― Ah, well, why not? Although I grew accustomed to Isander just fine, he is a very nice young man, docile and educated.

The man’s smile dropped. “I would not want to impose.”

― You would not, do not be so sad. Your company is just as nice, or maybe just slightly nicer. Isander is still a shy employee, and not much for extensive conversation. Your voice is not exactly hard to listen to either, you have a very soothing baritone. A lyrical one.

― I admit that I am not that familiar with operas, but perhaps would you be so kind as to accompany me to one someday, as to teach me all of the vocabulary, Damianos admitted sheepishly, colours rising to his cheeks. Laurent dismissed his embarrassment with a flick of his wrist and beamed.

― It would be my pleasure! I understand how it is, with work and errands. You might not have time to enjoy simplicities and arts. And going to an opera without a guide can be so difficult. And I am sure Erasmus would not be against it neither, his lessons in theatre decorum could use some refreshment.

― So it is settled? When may I hope to fetch you?

― Whenever you want. Holidays grant me infinite freedom and hours to fill. I trust your judgement, as novice as it is, to choose a good opera and to send us a letter to inform us of the date and hour.

The man glowed under the candlelight, his face lit with a genuinely smitten smile, and Laurent could not help but feel slightly dizzy at that, under the glee for Erasmus’ place in the man’s heart, he assumed. Judging by his tender smile, the man looked forward to seeing Erasmus again at the theatre, and Laurent found himself also waiting impatiently for their day in Nantes, which he explained to himself as the joy of having an occasion to go to the opera and to wander around Nantes without the supervision of his father. 

The man seemed to want to add something to the conversation, but Laurent’s attention was caught by Aimeric elbowing him before he could add something. Laurent raised his eyebrows at his young friend, who just pointed at Jord, who had stood up and was standing at the threshold separating the hallway and the dining room. When his gaze caught the young blond, he left for the hallway, a clear invitation to follow him. Laurent politely excused himself, pretexting that he needed to pass some water on his face, before following Jord away. The man led him all the way up the staircase and turned hastily toward him when they both reached the top.

― Laurent, I see the game you are playing. A rich merchant, minor foreign nobility will _never_ settle for the poor natural son of nobody knows.

― Oh, come on Jord, the man is already besotted by Erasmus, he does not care for his status. He would be good for him.

― He barely looked at Erasmus since dinner started.

― He is a timid man, it is a natural trait in kind spirits. He is avoiding the dizziness of a crush.

― For the love of God, Laurent, he has no affection for the boy!

― You do not know that! What do you even know about love!

― A lot, actually. His face softened as he whispered the last word. But how would _you_ know this?

― You are positively annoying, Jord! Whatever do you mean? And if not Erasmus, then who else present has his love?

― Oh, Laurent…

Jord sighed and stayed mute, watching the boy with odd fondness. Laurent impassively waited for an answer, his arms crossed defensively on his chest, refusing to acknowledge the older man’s care.

― Never mind, Jord finally said, and made his way down the stairs.

Laurent let him go silently and actually decided to go to the bathroom to gently soak his face, still reddened by irritation, only coming downstairs half an hour later, pampered and dry, as the guests were saying their last goodbyes, more than warmly to Laurent.

*****

His last exchange with Jord left Laurent with a bitter mood for the following days. His vexation was more the result of not knowing what the man had meant by the words he spoke, and was not at all directed toward Jord himself, for whom Laurent would never feel anything but deep friendship. The realization that Damianos was not in the least attracted to Erasmus disturbed him greatly, for it was both his first misstep and the cognizance of the unfortunate plight in which he had put his little protégé. Jord was right when he said Erasmus was but a poor boy, the adoptive son of an ordinary woman, who did not possess much except friendships, but sophisticated friendships could not be traded for goods on markets. It came to Laurent that perhaps Kallias was a well-suited match for Erasmus, after all. The comedian had the sensibility Erasmus sought in poetry and, despite Laurent’s aversion to his face, he was a clean young man with graceful manners. An ordinary young man, full of the ideas of the Romantics and the revolutions, and of maudlin verses to recite to lovestruck boys. Laurent still believed Erasmus deserved better, but perhaps he could make an exception and chaperone this romance.

Thus, when Erasmus came knocking on his door, to see if Laurent was ready to go into town with him, he did not bother him with Damianos anymore, instead asking about Kallias as Laurent finished to prepare himself. Erasmus talked excitedly about the boy, praising his gentleness and his restraint. Laurent listened carefully, without reserves, and chased the idea that his little friend would accept an alliance beside him. The boy told him about the complaisant nature of his friend, and that once, Erasmus had expressed the desire for vanilla cakes after one of their nightly strokes, and Kallias had travelled all the way to Parnay to get him the région’s best cakes. Erasmus’ eyes had lit up as he told his friend the tale, and Laurent felt warm inside, at the sight of his protégé so ecstatic. So from times to times, Laurent stopped Erasmus, to press for certain details, which made Erasmus blush and swoon when he had to tell the blond boy of the first time the comedian kissed him under a willow tree, or to give him further advices for the future of his relationship. Laurent forgot to brush his hair as he listened, and their trip was delayed by an hour, until his father came to see what was holding them back.

When they left for the town, the sun was high in the sky, but not as warm as the previous weeks. Spring in Montsoreau was often cold at the beginning, like a prude lover, but warmed as the compliments about his shining beauty and qualities grew louder. The two adolescents walked slowly, enjoying the many perfumes waltzing in the air, the smell of freshly baked bread intertwining with the sweet aromas of Miss. Forrester’s florist shop. Her eldest daughter Jokaste was working outside, arranging bouquets, and she waved them when they passed by, offering Laurent a white lily with a wink. Laurent had always liked her very much, and had tried to pair her with the baker’s son, Aktis. Jokaste soon enough admitted that she preferred the company of women to that of men, as she sensed Laurent’s scheme, and thus, Laurent had arranged for the farmer’s daughter, Kyrina, and Jokaste to meet, kindling their affections with well placed comments and gifts of his own, which he had signed with one of the girl’s name to send to the other. He liked the period during which he had to learn about his protégés’ tastes and desires, to inform his paired lover. His curiosity had helped Laurent become good acquaintances with half of the town, for he knew of what to talk about when he came to buy them products and what to gift them when he decided they needed a clever alliance.

The stroll went pleasurably by, Laurent and Erasmus talking about literature, as to perfect the young boy’s culture. If he was to entertain a comedian, he might as well know his lover’s passion. They were just discussing Maupassant’s latest book, _Bel-Ami_ , when they heard a man cry their names. They halted and turned around to see the priest of the village, Lazar, still dressed in his black soutane running up to them, smiling toothily.

― Hello there, kids. Ah, my eyes do not deceive me, the little peach of Montsoreau is back in town. We have not seen you around for the last few days.

― I felt a little sick these past days. I hope my silks were any comfort to you on your lonely days. Or perhaps our Lord was?

― You have me cornered, I much prefer you to our Lord, not matter how blasphemous that might be.

Laurent giggled, and offered his free arm to the man. “Come with us, then. we were going to stop for pâtisseries.”

Lazar took his arm eagerly, snatching the flower Jokaste had offered him from his hand, and putting it in his hair instead, locking it behind his ear. Laurent eyed him inquisitively, as Erasmus laughed beside him, and the man simply shrugged, in stead of a better answer. The boy smiled at the impromptu gesture of affection nonetheless, and led his two companions to Paschal’s café, where they regularly came by whenever they had enough money at the end of the day. Mr. Bonnet, whom they called Paschal, was a friendly and calm old man, who had always given Laurent sweets when he was a boy. Paschal had been a doctor, in his prime, but unfortunately, Montsoreau never seemed to fall to illness, and the poor man, who had settled here to follow his son Berenger, who was the accountant of the current mayor, was forced to take another assignment. When the trio entered, Paschal greeted them with a warm smile, coming to them and embracing the young men, before eyeing Lazar with barely covered jest.

― What is a priest doing here at this time? Is it not soon time for the _None_ services to begin?

― Oh, do not concern yourself with me, my child, the office will take place in due time. For now, I am just entertaining these lambs to the teachings of the faith around a well-deserved coffee. Call it a special tutoring session before they come for the _Vespers_. You will come for the _Vespers_ , won’t you, Laurent?

― Of course, Laurent answered pleasantly. Father would never miss evening offices, and I would feel terrible to fail to see you perform the _Magnificat_. But let us enjoy some tea before we discuss anything related to virgins and saints, my legs fell faint.

Paschal smiled and let them to sit at a table, taking their order and promptly delivering the hot drinks. They spoke a little more, Lazar teasing Erasmus about his new friend, whom he had seen during the _Terce_ , and who had fell when entering the chapel. Lazar jived that a dramatic actor who tripped on air was nothing but a Tartuffe, and better suited to Molière than Shakespeare, but Laurent had discarded his quip and explained that Kallias was just dreaming, and that it was for the better, since tragic heroes were always escapists in their own way. The older man had nodded at the comment, but Erasmus kept blushing and soon excused himself and left, telling Laurent that he was to meet Kallias at the pond. “Go find him, love, and kiss him for me,” Laurent had said mischievously, intending on encouraging the passion between the two. The priest stayed until it was 3 p.m., and left to conduct his office, but not without kissing Laurent’s forehead and remind him to come for the _Vespers_. Alone in the café, Laurent closed his eyes and tried to listen to the old women from the table behind’s conversation, something about how their son, at twenty-five, was still single, and Laurent found him interested despite himself.

― Hello, Laurent, a soft-spoken voice greeted him.

Laurent opened his eyes and saw Damianos sitting in the chair in front of him, a timid smile on his face, that the boy could only translate as the fear of bothering him. Laurent smiled back and greeted him politely, inclining his head forward as acknowledgement and an invite to join him at the table. When he saw him, Laurent thought back to the conversation he had with Jord, and the claim that he did not have any affection for Erasmus. Laurent thought it to be true, he trusted Jord, and he would not have pressed Erasmus to act with Kallias if it was not the case, but he needed to hear it from the man himself.

― I’m afraid you missed Erasmus by just mere minutes.

― I will see him at the opera next time.

― Ah, yes. How did you find him the other day?

― I think he is a nice young man, very attentive and thoughtful. Not a talker, but amiable company.

― _Oh_ , he breathed out, his disappointment audible.

― Have I said something I should not?

― You do not sound very enamoured with him.

― I am not. I actually fancy another man.

― Really? Such a waste, I was so sure that Erasmus would please you. I believe that he is better than whichever man has stricken your fancy, that I do, Laurent said rapidly, in a defiant manner, which was almost boyish of him, suddenly full of disdain for the man who had made his plan fail. And such a nice boy deserves a nice alliance. But I misread all the signs, it seems.

― Ah, Jord had mentioned at dinner the other day that you had difficulty with everything concerning love, Damen said with gay humour and a malicious smile.

― Oh, do not listen to that old fool. He is the one who is blind to love and cannot grasp the intrigues of Montsoreau. I admit that I had mistaken your jolliness the other day for yearning for my dear friend, but I am more than knowledgeable about the delicacies and schemes of love.

Damianos raised a suspicious eyebrow at him and smirked knowingly. He laughed, before changing the subject and talking to Laurent about the opera he chose, _Deidamia_ by Georg Friedrich Haendel, an opera in Italian which told of Achilles’ journey in Skyros, hiding from the Trojan war dressed as a woman. Laurent congratulated him on his taste, for it was one of his favorite, and agreed to the date, which was fixed to Wednesday evening. Damen would fetch them at noon, as the trip to Nantes took half a day by carriage. They talked some more, about philosophy and history, until the bells rang 6 p.m., and Laurent had to bid him goodbye to go to the _Vespers_ office. Damianos kissed his knuckles as he was leaving, and playfully called him Cupid as he looked at Laurent through his lashes, which made Laurent’s heart flutter, possibly at his talent being acknowledged.

*****

He was preparing for his afternoon tea with Aimeric and Jord when the door burst open and Erasmus stormed into the room, his honey curls bouncing all around his face as he jumped around the room. The spectacle went on for a minute, Laurent repressing an amused smile to asking Erasmus what the commotion was. The young man calmed, standing straight beside Laurent, and tightly holding his arm with both of his hands.

― Laurent, you will never guess what happened, Erasmus said, out of breath and voice going higher than it had ever been.

― Did your cat finally gave birth?

― Nothing like that, although she is expecting at any moment now. Oh, no! It is far better!

― Do not keep hanging like this, Erasmus, tell me, Laurent squealed despite himself, joining Erasmus in his merry spirit.

― Mr. Sjökvist is coming by Montsoreau, before going to Nantes!

― Torveld Sjökvist, the opera soloist? The one who is expected to sing Ulysses next Wednesday at the opera? What is a man like this doing in Montsoreau?

― Well, in the letter he sent here, he mentioned being a friend of Auguste and that he wished to meet you. He said that your brother had kindled his curiosity about you! Is this not fantastic?

― Well, that is surprising coming from Auguste, I did not think he was interested in mundane life. But these kinds of acquaintances are always nice to have around. When did he say he would arrive?

― Well, the letter was sent a week ago. Paris is barely four days away, so I would say probably today or tomorrow.

― Oh my! How grand would it be if he arrived this afternoon, it would save me from Aimeric’s incessant chatter about his newest lovers. Of course he has tons, but low-born boys or insignificant ladies. This is quite easy to pay them into his bed with waxed poetry and promises of gifts, it does not make him in the least interesting or clever. He should start seeking people from his own rank, or maybe above, to cement his future and stop abusing whatever small power he holds over poorer children.

― Perhaps do you ought to find yourself a suitor as well then? You and Aimeric were born the same year, and Aimeric is only older by two months.

― Oh, no, I have no need for one. My future is secured, between my father and my brother. Aimeric has slow brothers who live off their father’s monthly pension and cheap wine and do not make a franc by themselves. And his father is just glad about his position as a mayor, but rumours from Amboise say that he will not last another term of office, so their incomes will be extremely diminished. Aimeric needs someone to support him and his pampered life, I do not.

― Maybe you are right, Erasmus smiled. But still, a suitor would grant you affection and love each day, and you should indulge yourself in such fantasies. It is good to rely on someone else for one’s own happiness. You should think about it.

Laurent made a noncommittal noise, as the governess softly knocked on the open bedroom door, cutting the exchange short. She bowed her head slightly, and gave the boys a fond smile. Talik was a nice enough woman who had cared for Laurent ever since he was a toddler, as she did with Auguste. Years of caring for children left her with broad shoulders and wide hips on which she would let kids sit while holding them nonchalantly with one muscled arm. She was an imposing figure, but with a very soft heart and a heart-warming smile.

― Mr. Vere, a guest is asking for you in the hall. A certain Mr. Sjökvist.

― Oh, wonderful! Talik, please direct him here, and ask for some cakes to be brought here, we will have tea in my room today.

The governess nodded and departed at once, leave the boys alone for a few minutes, during which they smiled knowingly at each other, pleased by this surprising turn of events and their new renown friend. Both boys were amateurs of opera, and thus, the arrival of a singer was for their longing hearts an exceptional, divine gift. Talik came back with a man in the prime of his youth, tall and lean, with a careful structured dark beard, shaped in the latest trend to compliment his high and angular face. Something about him made him immensely attractive to both boys: his clean appearance, his inspiring aura or the confident way he stood at the threshold… The man smiled when his eyes landed on Laurent, and the boy found himself straightening his back to appear tall and older, and smoothing his formal attire. He sheepishly put a lock of golden hair behind his ear as the man approached to shake his hand and Erasmus gasped when their hands locked. The singer greeted Erasmus next, with a gentle smile and a handshake, but soon redirected his attention to Laurent.

― Your brother has spoken about you quite a lot. He is very fond of you. I have heard all the praises about your intelligence, and your beauty, and I can see that they were not exaggerated in the least.

― You are too kind sir. Please let us sit, we can start without my cousin, he will arrive soon enough. There is so much I wish to know about you.

― I would gladly answer all of your questions. Discussing with a bright mind is always so enlightening.

The boy overjoyed at the comment, pleased to find a mind that thought like his. The three men sat down and conversed pleasantly, both boys drawn to the elder’s every word, committing every bit of his knowledge to memory like schoolboys. Torveld answered their questions about music and the opera with merriment, and their interrogations about life in Paris or about intellectual subjects seriously and acutely. Laurent recognized in the man the spirit of the Second Empire, courtly manners and reserved cleverness. He always had a fond smile on his face and indulged the boys with great care. The boy could listen to him talk for hours, just content to lay down and abandon himself to the singer’s deep and melodic voice, still smooth despite his age and regularly smoking, as indicated by the pipe in his vest’s chest pocket.

Aimeric arrived an hour later, letting himself into the room without an escort, nor an invitation, and seemed surprised to see the attention still directed at Torveld and not at his grandiose entrance, which Laurent barely acknowledged, still hooked to the artist’s lips, and resigned himself to sit by Laurent and pout. Jord seemed more pleasantly surprised, and sat down and joined the conversation eagerly. Laurent often looked over at him to determine how the cleric was feeling, and he smiled whenever he saw him nodding along Torveld’s words or let out small gasps when the singer mentioned something he did not know. The boy thought the focused expression suited him very much, and he hoped for them to meet again, someday, as friends if they wished, for as long as Laurent could see Jord’s expression again.

Ultimately, Torveld had to leave in the late afternoon, and each of them deeply lamented his loss, even Aimeric, who grew interested in the topic of fashion in Paris. Before he left, Laurent jubilantly told the artist that Erasmus and he were going to the premiere on Wednesday, and that he hoped to see him again. Torveld smiled charmingly and kissed Laurent’s cheek tenderly, promising him to come see him during the interval, which made the boy blush with anticipation.

With Torveld gone, the table went silent, until Jord started to speak about their previous conversation, adding to Torveld’s remarks on ancient philosophy. Laurent participated merrily in the conversation, coming closer to Jord during each debate, spoken in whispers, meant only for the two of them. Erasmus and Aimeric were enjoying their own conversation about the younger’s cat, not sparing the other two any attention. Their faces quickly drew closer, until their noses were almost touching, debating animatedly about the subtilities of Plato’s philosophy. Jord was the first to notice the promiscuous position and jerked back, his face red. He excused himself and left the room in an unnatural hurry, leaving the three adolescents shocked and staring at the threshold the man just passed. Laurent told the other two that he would inquire into their friend’s odd behaviour and that he would come back soon, and the two others shrugged after some time, letting the boy to find the other.

After searching the first floor thoroughly, he was almost certain that Jord had actually left, and made his way outside to verify if Jord’s horse was still grazing the small field for the horses, or if he was truly gone. Laurent found Jord before he found his horse, sitting on a marble bench near a hedge of roses. He sat next to him, forcing his face to be smooth and comforting and not upset and saddened by his friend’s avoidance.

― Jord, do you feel alright?

― I do not know. I feel dizzy and warm.

― Should I go find Paschal? You might cover a fever, you poor thing.

― I do not think that it is a _fever_ that can be cured with herbs and drugs.

― Jord, tell me what is troubling you. I will be your more trustworthy confident, I will not tell a soul what you decide to tell me in these gardens, I swear.

― That is not an easy thing to disclose, Jord laughed without joy. Nor do I wish to put my emotions into words. It would make them too real, engraved into time and your memory, existing forever thus.

― Jord…

― When we were this close earlier, all I could think about was kissing you. I know this is a foolish sentiment to harbour at my age, and toward you, but something about you feel familiar and warm.

To Jord’s surprise, Laurent laughed, high and boyish, before embracing his friend. The man stilled in the younger’s arms and he let his mouth fall open.

― Oh, Jord. You fool, it is not I that you fancy.

― Excuse me?

― Please, Jord, I am not blind. I recognized the gaze you gave me lately, for I had already seen it somewhere else. Maybe more precisely, some other times. You looked at my brother with those same shining eyes and softness. You like me because I resemble Auguste in some aspects.

― What?

― Were you not aware of your love for him? Now that is comical, after all the efforts I made all those years ago for you to be accepted into Auguste’s retinue and assist him in physical activities. Now, if you are done being obvious to your own feelings, I suggest you send Auguste a letter this instant to tell him that you are coming to Paris soon.

― I am going to Paris?

― Oh, yes you will. And if not by yourself, then I will abduct you and take you there myself the next time I go visit my brother.

― You are impossible, Laurent, Jord said with a relieved smile, his eyes glassy with realization.

― Well, I told you that I mastered love and its subtilities, did I not? Now, my lover, on your feet, we have cakes to finish in my bedroom.

*****

Wednesday came easy after the little commotion. Laurent had lent Jord enough money to rent a car to Paris, just a day after sending the letter. The boy had watched his friend leave with a new complicity and great joy, knowing the trip would grant Jord and his brother a well-deserved romance. He did not doubt that his brother harboured the same feelings, deep within him, that would awaken at the sight of Jord, mature and cared to by Laurent for the past day.

Damen came by Montsoreau by noon, as he had persisted to journey to Montsoreau to accompany the youth to Nantes. He was alone in the carriage, when the two boys got in, with no signs of Kastor or any friend of his. His smile was sunny as he saw Laurent, and he exhaled lightly as he kissed his knuckles once more, just like they departed the other day in the café. He did he same to Erasmus, although with less conviction and warm, his kiss more polite and unpersonal.

The road was calm, the driver exceptionally gifted at avoiding holes and pebbles. The still car lulled Erasmus to sleep quickly, and Laurent lazily caressed his hair when Erasmus laid down on the couch to rest on his lap, draped in the blanket they were given to share. Damen was sitting carefully on the couch, nestled in his own sheet, watching Laurent softly and silently. The silence gave Laurent the time to study the man in front of him, this overly friendly and bright man, who shone in manual activities as well as in games of the mind, idly chatter and in curious debates. The boy had grown fond of the man, and felt at ease with him. More than once, he had felt a sort of dizziness when he was in his company, the way genius minds often do when they meet their match in intellect and curiosity. It also helped that the man was pleasant to the eye, his brown skin glowing in the setting sun, his dark curls dancing on his head whenever he approached Laurent, urging his steps. And sometimes, Laurent could feel Damen’s rough hand in his own, soft and unperturbed.

― How did you fare lately, Damen?

― Well enough. Business is great, and we are slowly making friends of the bourgeois of Nantes. And you, Laurent?

Damen had spoken his name in a murmur, like a silent prayer. A shiver ran down Laurent’s spine. It was so cold still in the carriage. Instinctively, he brought his arms around him and found warm with the friction.

― Are you cold? the man said to him, sounding worried.

― A little bit. But do not fret, I can support it.

― I can give you my blanket if you wished.

― Are you not cold?

― I am growing used to the cold.

― Nonsense, nobody ever does. It would not be fair of me to steal it from you.

― I am not using it.

― You might later. The air goes very cold around 4 p.m.

― I will be fine.

― Hush, if you want to give me your blanket, we will share it. Come here, sit next to me.

His height proved to be a challenge to the completion of the new arrangement, but they eventually managed, after a few shared giggles. They even had to move Erasmus to the empty couch, giving him more space to sleep tranquilly. Damen provided to be a comfortable source of warmth, sitting by Laurent’s side, with his blanket shared between them. They were sitting closely, their knees touching. Laurent’s fingers deplored the lack of activity combing Erasmus’ hair provided, and to keep him entertained, he unthinkingly took hold of Damen’s hand and started playing with it, caressing it absentmindedly as he watched the scenery through the window. Moments went by, in a very comforting slowness. Laurent took in every city they went through, tried to memorize each beautiful flower he saw, and sometimes told Damen anecdotes and stories to make time fly.

*****

They arrived in Nantes with the sun, and just in time for the opera to begin. They sat in the pit, and Laurent watched he people in the boxes, trying to remember their faces, as Damen waved back at some young women, who giggled behind their fans. The first act began with three loud knocks, and Laurent commented the opera to his companions, softly as to not disturb the rest of the assistance. His eyes trailed on Torveld multiple times, and he smiled, proud to be counted as one of his acquaintances. The first act ended on a warning from Deidamia’s friend Nerea about Greek men coming to search for Achilles on the island of Skyros, and a beautiful soprano performance.

As the lights went on, the crowd slowly rode and noisily made their way to the great hall, where they found friends to chat with, or new faces to entertain. Laurent stayed close by his own retinue, eyes searching the room for Torveld, hoping to introduce him to Damen. He ultimately found him speaking with another man, who looked similar enough to inform Laurent that it was probably his brother, Torgeir, the director of the opera. The boy approached them with a polite smile and introduced himself and his friends to the pair, and Torgeir’s face lit up, his wrinkles make his stern face more open.

― So you are the young Mr. Vere! Torveld has only talked about you with praises and compliments. How do you enjoy the opera so far?

― I most enjoy the actor you chose for Achilles. His petulance seems to be almost a part of his character. And his voice is a delight, soft and high, but still bordering on masculine. You have found yourself a gem, good sir.

Torgeir laughed, while his brother only smiled fondly, nodding at Laurent’s word, like an impressed teacher. “I am sure that Nicaise will enjoy your compliment, my dear. I will communicate it to him. That boy lives for attention.”

― Don’t all young men, after all? Attention is fun and versatile, easily given and received, hard to maintain. It is a game most liked among us.

― Is that so? Torveld asked, genuinely interested, but his voice busy with something else.

― Oh yes. I myself much appreciate it, in my spare time, and in my youthful freedom of marital problems. Love is rewarding and amusing.

― So you treat it as a light thing? Damen asked, his voice veiled and distant.

― Not when it comes to others. Love is a serious thing to cultivate. But when someone show me affection, then I would say so, for the only reason that I do not think I ever felt it.

Torgeir nodded at that, taking a sip of champagne, while Torveld simply laughed, airy and short. Erasmus looked at him with sorry eyes and pressed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Damen seemed the most saddened by his words, his delicate eyes lowering, as he frowned. He expressed his desire for some air fresh in a hushed tone, and left without another word.

― You should go see to his health, dear, Torveld whispered to him, his breath warm against his skin, and urging him toward the exit with a push on his back.

*****

Laurent got out as others pressed to come inside. The nightly wind burned his cheeks, but Laurent ignored it, looking across the boulevard for a sign of his friend. Seeing him so distressed had hurt him deeply, piercing his soul and making his heart beat fast and hard, so hard that it almost hurt. The thought that his words might have somehow hurt him made him feel guilty and wrong, and he felt the urge to go to his knees and pray for forgiveness to his Lord, for such pain could only be a divine punishment.

Damianos had not been hard to spot, once the people had deserted the outside of the theatre. He was walking slowly toward the park in front of the building, a beautiful French garden, lit by rows of fickle flames in dark posts. The boy ran after him, called for him through the night and asking him to wait for him. But the man progressed without a glance in his direction, and Laurent sped his race. He eventually caught up to him, and took his hand in his, forcing the man toward him, to see his eyes and his face, that moments ago were twisted with sadness and that now stood impassive before him.

And as he watched him, he came to the realize how stupid he had been, how blind and foolish he had been. How he lied mere minutes ago. Why he hurt so much, until he had grasped Damen’s hand. He had been so busy managing everybody else’s heart, that he had been blind to his own. He could recognize the sign of love in others, but never in him. For all he told he mastered the intrigues of courtship, he was a novice when he came to him, to what he desired.

All of this was new, disorienting, and he had repressed any strong emotion he had felt with Damen, covering them in foreign excuses, in a way he had never done. He had given Erasmus to Damen, because his protégé shared his colours. He had indulged any man’s attention toward him because he craved it, but from someone else, and he did not wish to acknowledge who, and yet wanted to be the object of loving gestures. He felt tears threaten to spill on his face, and he drew a shaky breath in.

― Damen… Please, I must speak to you.

― No, please do not tell me, he whispered. I do not have the courage to face you again. I am a coward and my secret is most shameful now.

― Let me hear it… Please…. Tell me whatever you want… about anyone… And I will tell you exactly how I feel. I am afraid of my own reflections, now, and of what your secret is.

― Laurent… My dearest Laurent… For it is what you always have been, and always will be… Please be honest with me, as hurt as I might become. My most beloved… I cannot make speeches, for if I loved you less, perhaps might have been able to talk about it more, but… I find myself at loss for words whenever you are near. Tell me the truth, what do you think?

Laurent let out a chocked sob, as he started to cry, breathing heavily as he struggled to form a proper smile. He stared at Damen and brought his hand to his lips, kissing it softly, as Damen had done. Except that it was not a greeting, but a promise. It was tender and gentle, genuine and personal, so personal, a shared moment in a garden, under the reassuring moon.

― My friend, I do not know what to think.

He could not express t with words, the warmth he felt, the beating of his heart, the anxiety in the spit of his stomach, so he carefully let go of Damen’s hand, to bring his own to the man’s face, cupping it gently. He brought himself forward, standing on his toes to rest his forehead against his beloved’s. He exhaled shakily, and slowly tilted his head, meeting the other’s lips chastely. His hands slowly progressed to rest into Damen’s curls, caressing it gently, and he hesitantly ask for Damen to open his month with a lick of his tongue on his lower lip, which the man granted, as he placed his hands on Laurent’s hips. The kiss deepened, both losing themselves in a slow waltz and vivid emotions. They stayed there for what felt like hours, kissing and laughing under the moonlight, until the audience of the theatre started to pour out of it once again, signalling the interval of the second act.

*****

Damen courted him with all the grace and gallantry he had said he deserved. Each day that passed, Laurent became more and more besotted with his lover, and easily came to expect and enjoy the warm embrace of love, to return it. He never mingled again, except in his own romance, courting Damen with fervour and boyish innocence, suddenly unsure of the procedure, despite his experience. His father had welcomed it with kindness and joy, embracing his son more than he usually would, and congratulating him on his alliance. 

After three years of relation, Damen had formally asked his father for his hand, which he eagerly gave, barely threatening Damen of terrible consequences if he ever thought of breaking his boy’s heart. Auguste had been less benevolent with his threats, but only ever treated Damen with friendliness and hospitality. Laurent had said that Jord had softened him. The marriage took place in Montsoreau, in a grand ceremony, which had welcomed the whole village and their own personal friends. Lazar had presided the ceremony, alternating between a stern and official speech, and lewd comments on Laurent’s newly unavailability. The crowd mostly indulged him, sometimes laughed along in agreement, until they were quietened by a mean stare of Nikandros, who had declared himself their official warden and witness of their couple.

They moved to Paris soon after, to allow Laurent to continue his studies, but they would visit Montsoreau ever so often, to see Mr. Vere, but also Miss. Mina, Erasmus and Kallias, Jokaste and Kyrina, Lazar and his new friends Huet and Rochert, both priests, but just as marginal and unprofessional, Isander and Pallas, who managed the Nantaise boutique in Damen’s absence, and even Kastor, who had settled in Nantes and found himself a girl to share his bed with.

Their apartment in Paris was large and richly decorated, but never cold, buzzing with laughter and the echoes of their twin daughters’, Emma and Jane, innocent naughtiness and mellow with their love, which never faded and grew old with them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my maudlin mistake which I wrote for 13 hours non-stop <3 
> 
> I'm just dying to see the 2020 Emma movie, and I tried to recreated the witty and funny setting of the trailers. I hope you were no disappointed by the short ending, but hey, it gives you room for imagination <3 (or like.... writing your own fluffy pieces of domestic life after their wedding *blushing emoji*)


End file.
